


the air is of silver and pearl; the night is liquid with moonlight

by OldMagpie (MagpieMorality)



Series: skip to the good part [5]
Category: A Dangerous Fortune (2016), Wolf (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, BDSM, Explicit Sexual Content, If by magic we mean supernatural creatures, M/M, Majid's Magical Silver Flogger, Mirror Sex, Sometimes you're a vamp with an exhibitionist streak and your wolf fuckbuddy enables you, The Great Kenzarelli Multiverse, Vampire!mickey, Wall Sex, Werewolf!Majid, clothed/naked sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/OldMagpie
Summary: Micky and Majid, in a classic Vampire/Werewolf-but-make-it-modern AU, having some very fun sex!
Relationships: Mickey Miranda/Majid Zamari
Series: skip to the good part [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050629
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey is all tied up and ready to play; Majid, who put him there, is going to oblige, and today he has a rather fun toy to try out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague context: Modern day Vampire Mickey meets Werewolf Majid and they Do Not Get Along, but also there's all this fun chemistry. One taunt is too many, leading to some totally not emotional and very memorable sex. This is a few weeks down the line...
> 
> (and is also unbeta'd and rough as heck, enjoy!)

Mickey shivers. He shudders. He groans. The gag stretched across his mouth - pulling back his lips and displaying his fangs over the top of the blood red velvet like a jewellery display box - keeps him from talking but it does not make him quiet, in voice or in body or mind, and he knows he should be trying to make a better showing of himself but he... can't.

The werewolf is circling, a slow and steady gait that makes Mickey's instincts go haywire. It's deliberate, the way he lets his feet scuff while behind Mickey's back but turns almost silent when he gets to his front, playing with Mickey's lit up instincts while his eyes are forced shut under yet another slash of soft red fabric. Mickey's fangs have been out for an hour, and his jaw aches from the tension with no chance of relief.

At least not the relief that his mouth waters for. But other parts of him still have hope.

"Head up," comes the command, from somewhere over his left shoulder. Mickey should be able to pinpoint him perfectly in the room but his head is spinning too wildly to concentrate. He doesn't need to breathe but he feels breathless nevertheless, shifting in the tight grip of the ropes.

"I said, head up," the order repeats, firmer. Mickey shifts and obeys, forcing his chin upwards without the reluctance he'd been playing at earlier. He can't keep it up now, hours after his resolve has broken down. The velvet of the gag rubs against his biceps, as his arms bracket his face, pulled up high above him. It's a strange place to feel so sensitive but honestly there is no part of his skin that is no longer on fire. Even the cling of his underwear, the only other thing he's wearing, makes him want to squirm. He groans.

A hum of approval from his right startles and soothes him in equal measure, and then a rustle further away brings the shivers back. He feels the ropes above his head lift a little more, then hears the soft rush of the pulley straining him just enough that he's up on the tip of his toes, chest pulled long and taut. Mickey can't feel his hands anymore, but the beauty of this, of _them_ , is that it doesn't matter. Oh, they could hurt each other, but they can also walk away from it afterwards.

For Mickey that's where the lure lies, of doing this. When he stops to think about it he feels as much a rush of power as the werewolf no doubt does; he is using his body to tempt the predator into pushing harder than he normally would. He is the succubus, taunting his own prey as much as the wolf thinks he is taunting Mickey. _He_ wins in this scenario, driven half wild from sheer unending sensation.

A pause behind him makes him still, straining to hear more. the wolf makes a considering noise and then says, "you're smiling," with a note of surprise and- intrigue?

Mickey growls because he cannot reply, offering up a truly filthy moan to soften his response and draw them back to the game. He thinks the werewolf gets it, because under his own sound there is an answering dark chuckle.

And then. As if gifted by the grace of a God Mickey no longer gives his thanks to; hands touch him. They are so warm, surprisingly nimble, and smoother than he would expect from a creature he knows for brute force and roughness. Beautiful hands, with long and clever fingers, that play him now like an instrument. With one the wolf reaches up, over the arch of Mickey's neck to tangle in his hair and pull, drawing his head backwards through the squeeze of his own arms to hang back as far as it will go. The other slides around his front, palm scuffing over a nipple on the way to its destination, splayed wide and possessive over the top of his chest, settling heavily on his collarbones.

Mickey wishes to gasp but he has no air left since the first hand made contact. He shudders instead, held in the delicious position. If he could see himself - _fuck the thought of doing this in front of a mirror is fucking delicious_ \- he would think of ballet, of lines of effort that turn to grace when beheld. He flexes and points his toes, arching his feet to turn his entire body into a smooth arc.

"You-" the werewolf starts hoarsely, before the hand in Mickey's hair tightens and the one on his chest pushes down just a fraction more. It burns now, in his arms where the rope jealously pulls back, and Mickey is ashamed to say he whimpers a little. The tension eases all at once and suddenly the height he had been stretched too feels less than before. He whimpers then as well. "Oh my pet, are you unhappy?" the wolf coos as he moves away. Mickey shakes his head emphatically. _How could he be unhappy like this?_ "You are? Well we-'' Mickey keeps shaking, more insistently. "You're _not?_ " A firm nod and a shuddering sigh. "Good. You're so good, M-"

The threat of his name makes him lock up and the wolf stops immediately, sighing. He murmurs out something in the language he refuses to teach Mickey, accompanied by the sound of skin over rough stubble. "You're good, and you'll let me tell it to you directly, pet. Good at giving me what I want."

 _Better, better_. Mickey does feel bad for the slight note of annoyance in the werewolf's voice, but he is grateful for the concession.

"You must remember who's in charge here," the wolf continues. Mickey fights not to smile, not to preen. He knows _he_ is in charge here, but the illusion is what counts.

At least until a new sound hits his sensitive ears.

He shifts in anticipation, wondering what will come next. The werewolf gives no hints about what's coming until he is back at Mickey's side. He strokes his flank, settling him like an unruly horse - Mickey wants to bare his teeth to remind the wolf what he really is - and then touches the new tool to his cold skin.

Under the gag Mickey's throat turns raw from the howl the cursed thing rips from him. It burns, it feels terrible, but he can't help but love it. It is a blessing to his skin, like the vastly different but equally addictive burn of the wolf's hands, and he knows with certainty that he is going to cry today.

"Hush my pet, hush," come the words as the silver of whatever thing the wolf has chosen paints thin lines over his hip. "I'm going to mark you up so good, you'll be a work of fucking art."

He wonders how he'll stand it, but he's still hung and stretched and unable to move so really he hasn't got a choice. Theoretically Mickey could pull himself up with just the strength of his aching arms and get away, but it would be difficult and half of the delight here is that he is fighting with his own instinct to avoid the pain. They are both choosing to do this as much as each other, and the struggle is... worth it.

The hand on his hip is kind in contrast to the soft-yet-sharp slices of burning over his back. Shapes trail delicately past his shoulder blades, curling down his spine, highlighting the shallow divots at the top of his underwear. The wolf is uncharacteristically kind; he does not stop or change the pressure, allowing Mickey to grow used to the sensation and fall into it, rather than keeping him figuratively on his toes as much as he is literally.

Mickey... wants less of the niceness. Not enough to safeword, or safe _signal_ , out but enough to pout about it. He starts to shift, shifting away from the blows and into them, so they can't quite land how the wolf wants them to. He grins around his gag as the werewolf gets more and more frustrated. Then he seems to come to a decision and growls, clamping a hand onto Mickey's hip, the sound ringing down to Mickey's very bones. "No, you're gonna behave because you are bound here for me, Mickey, as my pet to play with-"

The silver never stops as the wolf - _oh fuck it, why keep hiding away?_ \- as _Majid_ paints him prettily with pain in an excruciatingly slow, gentle way, torturing him with kindness. Mickey tightens his throat so he won't make a sound, which perhaps is the final sign that Majid needs to realise he's making progress. His blows take on a new strength but stay slow and inexorable and Mickey falls into an ocean of bliss and lets the tide drag him away.

At last; peace. A release, a relief that he didn't even know he'd been chasing washes through Mickey for the first time and cleanses him, lightens his mind away from his body. Distantly he is aware he is gasping and gulping and dripping pleas from his lips; that the silver has gone and Majid is wrapped around his back so tightly they are almost one person, mouthing at his neck, fingers digging into Mickey's hips as harshly as if he had his claws out.

When Majid shifts - probably to release Mickey from the bindings - Mickey whines, short and sharp to stop him. If he was in his right mind he would be embarrassed by his need for physical comfort but he needs it too much to stop himself now, and his head is far too fuzzy to consider anything but what he wants in this moment. Majid pauses and returns, rubbing up his arms instead, until Mickey has returned to his body and sighs. He worms his head back through his arms to hang forwards and feels lips on the bare back of his neck. The rasp of Majid's stubble is tantalising and a little soothing, but they are far from done. Mickey can tell from the faint buzzing in his muscles and the tiny flutters of Majid's fingers, that they are getting ready for the next stage, now that Majid has Mickey worked to where he wants him.

And he is right. Majid moves lightning quick, using his superior speed to dart away and back in a flash. The ropes ease so that Mickey is down on his feet again, weight still slightly lifted from his heels but more or less flat on the ground. Majid unties the gag and pulls it from his mouth with a firm yank, sliding it roughly behind his teeth and leaving a gentle friction burn that heals quickly enough but still makes Mickey keen. He probes his lips and teeth and moves his jaw to stretch away the ache, mouth parting to speak.

"Be loud, pet," Majid tells him with a voice like the deepest ocean, before he can say a word.

Then Majid steps back and it begins. Blow after blow of the finest silver strings land over his back, covering the marks Majid had already left there. And Mickey is _loud_ , howling and sobbing and sometimes even laughing through his gasps, as Majid allows him the penance of pain after his patience. He trembles with anticipation when his wolf shoves at his underwear, tangling it at his knees and revealing unblemished skin for the taking. It does not stay unblemished for long and nor does Mickey stay unaffected. He knows Majid can tell, but until he is panting around broken, wordless sounds, the goddamned wolf simply carries on, striping the flogger down at creative and varied angles, shifting rhythm and force on each new strike.

When Mickey howls out his final plea and his voice cracks and shatters, Majid moves again. The pulley turns and the ropes ease, dropping his hands to head-height. It's enough give for his fierce and ruthless werewolf to bend him forwards, kicking his legs as wide as they'll go while still trapped in his underwear, and push his cock inside, taking advantage at last of the advanced preparation he'd made Mickey do for him many hours ago. The impact of his hips against Mickey's red and raw backside is equally as transcendent as the flogger had been, but the hot press of his dick inside? Is nothing short of drool-worthy. Majid is after all, a wolf man through and through, and he acts like it now - stealing his pleasure covetously, burying himself deep to seal his claim on Mickey's flesh. His teeth are sharp against the arch of Mickey's shoulder; his fingernails are pinpricks of delight on his stomach, curling around his waist; his chest rumbles with a feral growl that Mickey should want instinctively to answer the challenge of, but only mewls at. He has been so thoroughly cowed and claimed by this man, this creature, that even his instincts know to submit.

He's been hard for so long that he knows he probably won't be able to come untouched - if he hasn't achieved it yet, with all the games they've played and the heights he's reached then it will take something else to push him over the edge.

And Majid is, as ever, _something else._ One of his hands disappears for a moment and then the clip holding Mickey's bound hands to the rigging above opens with a snick. They both drop sharply to the ground with a loud thud when Mickey overbalances from his awkward bend, and Majid _does not stop_ , pushing him down, a hand on his bound wrists, and fucking him with hard, deep strokes. He pulls out before the end and Mickey cries out in protest- but _oh,_ of course. Warm wet adds to the red mess Majid has made of his back. His wolf groans, smearing his hand through it and raking the blunt edge of his fingernails against Mickey's skin so he keens, wild and desperate.

" _Fuck, Mickey_."

A hand reaches under him, stroking almost absentmindedly, while Majid is still mostly distracted by his creation. Mickey's own orgasm is more of a shudder, a freeing release from tension, like falling into bed after a long night or laying back in a hot bath.

Majid's hands caress and cage him while he floats.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometime further down the line, another rather memorable encounter involving an argument and a mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague context: Mickey has been dealing with other wolves on his father's orders, and had a chance to do something independently. Unfortunately the wolves figured him for an easy target. Luckily Majid got wind and showed up, derailing it all but salvaging the situation. Mickey is not pleased...

The air fills with the sound of their snarls. From Mickey's side, more of a hiss as he bares his teeth, catlike and vicious; from Majid's side a deeper rumble in his chest, chin firmly down to challenge back.

"You should have let me _work_ ," Mickey snaps, and Majid finds himself rolling his eyes. It's always such a struggle to get Mickey to settle the fuck down, and he always takes business so _personally_ that they end up here far too often for Majid's liking. "I had it under control. Now I just look-"

"You still have your pretty head attached to your shoulders don't you? Why is it _so hard_ for you to say thank you when someone helps you out?"

"Because you didn't help! I have a reputation!"

"And now you're alive - enough - to _keep it_." Majid stands squarely in place, feet planted in the doorway while Mickey starts to pace back and forwards in front of him. "And you can conclude your business properly through me now we've established a proxy and you won't lose face."

"I didn't ask for you to get involved. I didn't _want_ you to get involved. This was my business, my connection, my job to do-"

"Well excuse me for wanting to keep you safe."

Mickey laughs, sharp and sudden. "Is that what you call it? Forcing me to step back to you while in front of a dozen other dogs?" He ignores Majid's growl. "They'll think I'm _weak_."

"And they will be wrong to assume, and you can use their underestimation. They were going to kill you, Mickey, when have you ever seen that many unconnected pack members voluntarily in one place before?"

Finally, Mickey shuts up. He doesn't look at Majid but he does give off the distinct impression that he's listening, considering that.

"It's not just unusual, it's unheard of," Majid continues, chancing a step forwards. Mickey doesn't move a muscle, so he approaches a little more, closing the gap between them. "This is why you need my help if you're going to deal with my people. You just don't know the things I do."

"And if I say no? Go alone?"

"Not alone. Never again, if I can help it."

"Even if I ask you to stay behind?"

"Even then," Majid promises. He hears the note of curiosity, of probing uncertainty in the words. It makes him feel exhausted all of a sudden, all this playing of games, Mickey constantly testing him, taunting him, waiting for something, watching his every move to read from it... what, Majid doesn't know. He hopes he's managed to prove himself well enough so far. Mickey probably would not be in front of him right now if he hadn't.

Mickey's head lifts and he shakes his hair out of his face, casting a quick, imperious glance sideways at Majid. The wolf knows what that means and takes the few paces necessary to press up against his side, curling a hand beneath his jaw and bending to press his nose past thick hair to find the skin under his ear. Mickey tips his head obligingly.

He inhales deeply, drawing Mickey into his lungs. Just to be cheeky he adds a quick flick of his tongue, delighting in Mickey's squeal and squirm of protest in response to being licked.

"You're the worst, why do I let you stick around?" Mickey asks, hands burying into Majid's jacket, pulling them chest to chest.

"I can think of a few reasons."

"Care to demonstrate?"

Majid grins, and obliges.

There's nothing quite like life-reaffirming sex. Sure, there has to be some kind of risky or near-death experience first, but the sheer shocking adrenaline rush of surviving and proving that to every part of your body is a high unlike few others. Majid would know, too, although by now the top of that list for him is all occupied by various ways of having Mickey. He's more of an intoxicating substance than any of the strange concoctions the witches brew up for wolves these days. He puts Majid right out of his head with sheer want with the barest shift of his body, when he decides to play.

They are, despite all their fun and games with the various toys they employ, careful with their teeth. When Majid kisses Mickey back through the room to the wall on the other side, smirking at the little gasp Mickey lets out when his head and body collides back with it, Mickey's canines - though he detests calling them that - are pulled back and Majid is as firmly human as he can keep himself looking. That doesn't stop them from biting at each other's lips, digging fingers into flesh and fighting until Mickey inevitably caves.

"You love this," Majid tells him, scraping his rough beard down Mickey's cheek to suck a bruise into his jaw. "Fuck you really love this."

Mickey just laughs breathlessly and hitches his crotch out from the wall to grind into Majid's thigh, proving the wolf thoroughly right.

Faster than human eyes could follow, Majid yanks Mickey forwards, spins him, and presses him against the wall again, sealing himself to his back. He uses his chest to pin Mickey there, face turned sideways, and holds the vampire's hips in place to hump his own against, a promise for more to come. Mickey whines softly, palms splayed on the wall, trapped by his chest.

"Do it, do it," he murmurs, a little garbled as the wall squashes half his mouth.

"Bedroom. Get on the bed, get yourself ready."

Mickey is graceful when he moves, fluid and floating even at great speed. Majid watches him go, fighting the instinctive urge to take chase, and forces himself to follow sedately. Mickey is a quick worker, already undressed and pressing a finger inside himself, performative as ever, but he pauses to hold a hand out to Majid, leg dropping down to the bed, and draws the wolf up beside his head to watch. The angle gives Majid an idea, eyes flicking between where he can't quite see Mickey's finger - fingers now - disappearing, and the large standing mirror beside the door.

"Mickey, pretty thing, come with me."

"Changed your mind already?" Mickey asks, but the taunt of his words belies how he stands up as soon as Majid does, letting himself be guided to the mirror. "Oh. I _see_."

"Yes we will," Majid agrees, tugging Mickey down to sit back against his chest right there on the floor. Mickey shudders, wriggling a little, the bare skin of his back rubbing against the faux-leather and denim of Majid's jacket. His legs look even paler than usual while bracketed by black jeans. Majid wants to decorate them with red marks, but later. Later.

He helps Mickey lift his legs up and outside his own, holding them behind the knees for support as his exquisite, endlessly horny vampire leans backwards, tilts his hips and fucks his fingers back inside himself, preparing the way for Majid's cock to come. Mickey rolls his head back onto his shoulder and groans, but in the mirror - this really was a good idea - Majid can see the glint of his half-lidded eyes watching his own hand move.

"You're the vainest creature I ever met," Majid praises him. "It's a wonder you can spare any affection for anything else when you love yourself so much."

"Jealous?" Mickey replies, shuddering again at the rough rasp of tongue up his neck.

"Why should I be? I'm here aren't I - not much to be jealous of. Add another."

Mickey uses their reflection to find the lube and Majid feels a growl rise in his chest again at the sight that follows, a third and then a fourth finger slipping inside. His gaze is laser-focused on the stretch of skin around each artful, pale and shiny digit, hunger zeroing in on where he most wants to be. But instead of following the urge he waits, longer than he wants to, teasing them both by just sitting and occasionally murmuring an instruction, an _order_. Mostly though, he lets Mickey fuck himself steadily open, until he finally starts to beg.

"Don't make me come like this, Majid please, please come on you want more than this don't you?" he says, writhing back into Majid's jean-covered but still noticeably interested cock. "You want me, have me, come on wolf boy, get your dick in me and prove you can keep me satisfied, show me why I should let you watch my back, stand at my side-"

As well as Majid knows Mickey, the inverse is also true. Mickey's words hit every reflexive, base instinct Majid has as both wolf and man, hard enough to urge him into action. If he truly desired he could probably resist but why would he?

With a quick scramble of rearranged limbs Mickey ends up on all fours, close enough for his breath to mist the surface of the mirror. Majid shoves his jeans down to his thighs and kneels up behind him, rubbing the head of his cock on those tempting, waiting thighs and up between his cheeks, teasing at the slick muscle that beckons him in.

"Are you watching?" he checks, waiting for Mickey to turn his eyes back to his own face before sinking inside him. There's a beautiful, drawn out moment when Mickey's expression freezes, and then his mouth drops open, all plush pink lips and fluttering eyelashes. Gorgeous.

Maybe next time they do this he'll figure out how best to angle them so Mickey can watch, as Majid watches now, how he takes Majid's cock so nicely. It's all Majid can do to take it slow, especially with his blood racing quick and hot in his veins after Mickey's sniping. Mickey is wet and stretched and soft inside, a perfect fit and arousing enough to make Majid want to howl and rut in and stake his claim to anyone who hears them. He can hardly hold back, and he can tell from the way Mickey is grasping the carpet and moaning that the vampire isn't interested in that option much either.

So he doesn't, for long.

They both get louder and louder as Majid speeds up, hands barely keeping unclawed on Mickey's hips. He jostles Mickey forwards a little on a series of harder thrusts before returning to a deep, steadier but no less ruthless rhythm. Mickey's forehead hits the glass and stays there as he pants for breath he barely needs.

"More?" Majid asks. Mickey lifts a hand to brace on the unstable mirror, whining at his own reflection in lieu of a reply. "More," Majid translates for him, and gives him what he wants. What they _both_ want. He follows the quick pace of his own heartbeat and tests his own muscles with it but Mickey takes everything and just begs worldlessly for more, for harder, for faster. Who is Majid to deny that?

The sound of Mickey's sharp cry of warning is the only hint Majid gets before the mirror starts to sway, a few long, heated minutes later. He pulls Mickey up and back to his chest, chuckling at the vampire's flailing attempts to push the mirror back when it falls towards him. He ends up holding it more or less vertical, fingers and arms outstretched, the strain in them creating some truly beautiful lines in the muscles. "Hold that there," Majid murmurs, knees working hard to keep fucking up into Mickey from the new angle. He watches through the haze of his own overwhelming arousal as Mickey's arms get weaker and start to bend, fingertips starting to slip, the mirror sliding closer and closer to them until it's angled down, giving just the most perfect view when Majid wraps a hand around Mickey's cock and jerks him off, quick and rough, to a squirming, shouting release that spills a little onto its own reflection.

"Shit," Mickey squeezes out of his throat, sounding raw but heartfelt. "The mirror, Majid the mirror-"

"Move it then, before I break it. And then get up against the wall."

"Fuck, yes," Mickey agrees, shuffling forwards on his knees to prop the mirror back up properly once Majid lets him go and reluctantly pulls out. Majid can hardly stop the possessive growl in his chest, wrapping a hand around himself for a moment until Mickey returns to him, so temptingly naked. They both indulge in a kiss for a second or two, Mickey's miles of skin enthusiastically squirming against Majid's clothes, before an insistent shove from Majid sends Mickey back. He scrambles upright and leans back against the wall with his palms pressed to it, waiting impatiently on slightly shaky legs.

Back at the start of all this Mickey would never have let him so close, would have insisted on closing his eyes and keeping Majid distant if the wolf convinced him to try this face to face. Now he pulls him in, hauls him closer and spreads his legs easily for Majid to lift up wide and slot between, none of the desperate need to retain control lingering in his loose limbs. He just sighs and sucks on Majid's tongue, clings onto him when Majid drops him down onto his cock, and lets the wolf fuck himself merrily through to the end with all the pent up aroused energy left in him, the wall doing its best to withstand the force.

When Majid finally comes they slide slowly downwards, his own bones turning to liquid and just about managing to hold Mickey up long enough to sink them carefully without dropping him. He ends up kneeling with Mickey sat in his lap, trapped between the wall and Majid's chest, both of them still wracked with the odd twitch and shiver that will set someone off into a quiet groan or the faintest huff of sated laughter.

The position isn't exactly going to be wonderful for long but neither of them are complaining, languishing in the buzz of post-sex pleasure. Mickey doesn't say a word but Majid mumbles into his neck, things in his own language that Mickey won't understand, never does, but enjoys the cadence of and the mystery of hidden treats. He knows they're compliments and praises. One day Majid might even tell him what they really mean.

"Let's get you up and undressed, hm?" is the first thing the vampire says again once they've caught their breath and started to come to. Majid bares his blunt teeth in protest but Mickey gives him one look and he caves, pulling out and stripping as quickly as possible so he can climb onto the bed and enjoy Mickey cleaning them up.

If he tackles the vampire before he can go and put the washcloth away, dragging him under the covers and wrapping around him like a particularly amorous python, then there's no one that can prove it, no one there to see the small intimacies Mickey allows him - more and more often these days - in the privacy of his own home. Majid buries his nose back in his favourite spot under Mickey's ear and inhales. This time he smells all the sweeter with Majid mixed in among the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> For Team Orange & The Greens, and everyone else in the fam that enjoyed it the first time round!


End file.
